


Bloodline

by Anonymous



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, Whump, Work In Progress, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:33:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are many ways to depose an unwanted emperor, and Sheveän picks one of the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He did not know where they took him. There were hallways, and stairs—down which he nearly fell—and a doorway they bent him double to shove him through, and more stairs, narrow and cold, and the scent of stone and water, and then a raised door lintel that he stubbed his toes on and fell, sprawling on cold flagstones. Maia waited there for what felt like a long time, but must have only been about a minute. Finally, he began to raise his hands to the sack on his head, but was stopped by a boot pressing down across his shoulderblades. The sharp heel made him guess it was a woman’s boot, though he couldn’t be sure.

“We agreed—” The plural we. A man’s voice. He knew that voice from somewhere.

“No.” A woman’s voice, belonging to the person currently stepping on him. He felt sure it was Sheveän, even from that one word. From the Drazhadeise crest he’d known it was likely to be either her or Vedero, and he would not have believed it of Vedero. In a way, it was a relief that it was Sheveän.

“The papers are ready,” the man said. There was an angry note of warning to his tone; he didn’t like his plans being changed, whether because she was a woman, or for the very good reason that he didn’t like what she was planning. And with a terrible shock, Maia realized he knew that voice. Uleris Chavar, the high chancellor. He should have seen it coming, but he hadn’t.

Maia had intended to say something to his captors, at least find out if his nohecharei were unharmed. It was just a sudden blow, to know even his high chancellor thought him unfit. His shoulders were tense, sore from the press of Sheveän’s boot. It seemed very possible Sheveän meant to kill him then and there. But Chavar hadn’t agreed to that. Surely he wouldn’t allow it? Even if Chavar thought him an unfit emperor—a moon-witted hobgoblin even—surely he wouldn’t let him be murdered in cold blood.

“Your plan is disastrous,” Sheveän said. “A coerced abdication can be challenged.”

“We thought you had made preparations for that,” Chavar said. _Ah_ , Maia thought. Chavar was at peace with his murder after all, then. What was her plan that he objected to, then? Or was Sheveän simply so much of an idiot as to want to skip the forced abdication? This entire thing was rash and poorly-conceived, but that seemed a bit much even for her.

Maia had the dreadful feeling that Sheveän was not an idiot, and he did not want to find out her plan.

“He will be made inappropriate for the position of emperor,” Sheveän said. “Then it will not be a matter of coerced abdication or not. Only the entire court seeing irrefutably what was evident to us from the start.” Then, said sharply behind her, “Bring him in.” Maia heard footsteps and strained his ears, but no one from that direction spoke.

“If this fails, it’s no different from an assassination,” Chavar said. “You understand the consequences of that.”

“It won’t fail.”

“And what if he identifies us when he wakes?”

“He hasn’t seen our faces.”

“He’s heard our voices.” Chavar’s voice lowered to a hiss. “You were not half as clever as you think you were. Even if he has the wits of a child he may know it.”

Maia held very still, barely daring to breathe. Of course he knew who they were. And in a strange way, being so grossly underestimated put a kind of fire back in him. The same people who thought he was unfit to rule thought their own transparent scheme was beyond him. It was clear to him that their perceptions were at fault here, and not his. But now his choices seemed to be death if he revealed his knowledge, or some fate worse than death that would make him unfit to rule. He had an inkling of what that might be, though in his brief time in court it wasn’t something he’d come to understand well. A jolt fired off in his chest, a desperate, primal need to stay alive. He wondered if his nohecharei had been killed once more—if not, they might find themselves joining him soon anyway.

“Don’t worry,” Sheveän said. “The process will disrupt his short-term memory. He won’t recall any of this.”

* * *

Maia woke with a terrible start. For one confusing moment, he had no idea at all who or where he was. It all came back to him as if from the very beginning—he remembered his mother, warm and present as though she had just left his bedside the night before after tucking him in. He recalled her wasting; her death. Edonomee, loneliness, the small cruelties of Setheris Nelar. He thought he was there, for a moment, but his bed was too lush, too fine, and he recalled how impossibly, he had become emperor, and the flood of things that had occurred since coming to the Alcethmeret, up to the kidnapping and attempt at usurping him the night before. Had that all been just a nightmare? His head was splitting in pain. The rest of his body didn’t seem much better off.

“Serenity.”

Maia looked up and saw it was Cala who had spoken. It took his eyes a moment to focus on him properly—even with the curtains drawn, everything was too bright, too sharp. When he saw him clearly at last, concern washed over him. Cala looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were darkened hollows in his white face, and his long, bony features seemed more deeply graven.

Before he could ask Cala what was the matter, Maia saw Beshelar, and went cold. Beshelar was openly weeping, tears straggling down his stony face like waterfalls in spring thaw. Beshelar’s mouth worked, the beginning of a “Serenity,” but he realized his voice wouldn’t hold it and fell back into silence.

“Beshelar…Cala…” Maia said numbly. Neither of them took their eyes off him. His own voice had come out hoarse, and he realized his neck hurt as if it had been crushed, as if someone had choked him. Beshelar and Cala continued to stare at him, like he was a ghost or a miracle or something unimaginable. Maia looked down at himself in confusion. He was dressed in a nightshirt, although a different one than he thought he’d gone to bed in. His hands and arms seemed unmarred, though it hurt slightly to raise them. His neck was bandaged. There was something in his mouth, something stuck to his teeth, but he couldn’t dislodge it with his tongue.

“Someone…someone should fetch Doctor Ushenar,” Cala said. He looked at Beshelar a moment, then just as Maia was wondering if he ought to fetch Doctor Ushenar himself, Cala said, more steadily, “I’ll send for Doctor Ushenar.” He stepped out of the room only for a moment before returning on shaky legs.

“Serenity,” Cala said. “How do you feel?”

“I…” Maia began, dazed. Nothing felt real. He wasn’t emperor. He probably wasn’t even a person. He might be anything. A dandelion seed on the wind. “We…” His gaze went to the window with thick curtains drawn over it, layer over layer, and a bright slit of sunlight searing through in one spot. Looking at it made the pounding in his head escalate till he felt it vibrating in his skull like the drums of an oncoming army. Or like he imagined that might feel, from books he’d read. “Dazhis and Telimezh?” he asked finally.

Cala swallowed hard. “Telimezh is fine. It’s his turn to sleep.”

“And Dazhis?”

Cala and Beshelar exchanged a look, and Beshelar finally spat, through the tears, “He is a traitor. It was he who drugged Telimezh.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t need to know the details of that just now,” Cala said, his voice wavering. He looked as though he’d been crying before Maia woke up, and like it was only through supreme effort that he kept it at bay now.

Maia wanted to ask what _that_ meant, but perhaps Cala had a point that now was not the time for it. They were both still staring expectantly at him. They must know what had happened to him, yet neither wanted to be the one to say it. A part of Maia wanted to play along and hope this was just the aura of a nightmare clinging to him, but by now he knew what had happened. He couldn’t remember the details, but he remembered enough. He gingerly touched his new fangs. A vampire now as well as a hobgoblin.

“Who was it who did this to me,” he asked. He’d forgotten the formal. He considered trying to amend it a moment later, but it was too late.

“Serenity,” Beshelar said, “we are still investigating that.”

“You hoped we would know,” Maia said wryly.

At that moment, Doctor Ushenar entered, with Csevet hot on his heels. Beshelar turned to block Csevet saying, “We’re sorry, Mer Aisava, but His Serenity is not ready to take guests yet.”

“We’re afraid we must insist,” Csevet said. His voice had that quaver to it too. He’d been weeping. They all had.

“Lieutenant, your face,” Cala said, and Beshelar suddenly seemed to realize he’d confronted Csevet with tears still wet on his cheeks. He coughed and drew a rag from his uniform to wipe his face with.

“Mer Aisava was sleeping in the doorway of our office,” Doctor Ushenar said. “He seemed to think it important to be here for your awakening.”

“He has been of great assistance to us these last few days,” Cala said. “If His Serenity has no objections, perhaps he could be allowed to stay.”

Maia frowned. “We have no objections,” he said, then, the part that had troubled him: “Days?”

“You have been unconscious for three days,” Doctor Ushenar said.

Maia spent a moment considering that. “You say unconscious, but….”

“It is a common fancy that vampires die or are undead,” Doctor Ushenar said, “but with science we know it is a mere slowing of the vitals. You slept, Serenity. We had our work cut out for us getting it through the thick skulls of your nohecharei that you were not dead.”

Maia nodded. He really knew nothing about this at all. Setheris had had a few choice ugly things to say about vampires, much as he had about marnei and other kinds of people who did not live at Edonomee and Maia knew nothing about the existences of. They didn’t seem altogether loved at court, though Maia couldn’t say he’d met one he was fond of, either.

He thought that he should ask questions—surely he had thousands of them—but everything fled his mind at the moment. He didn’t even know what he needed to know. This was why he needed Csevet here, he thought. Although worldly as Csevet was, the doctor might be more knowledgeable on this particular topic. He needed…he needed….

Maia brought a hand to his bandaged neck. “We are parched. Would it be possible to send for some chamomile tea?”

His nohecharei and Csevet went stiff. True, his apologetic tone had not sounded very imperial…but no. That wasn’t why. Maia suddenly realized what they must think. _They thinkest thou art a ravenous beast, ready to tear out their throats_ , he thought to himself. Worse, he wondered if they were right.

“Can he?” Cala said, in a small, weak voice, quickly followed by, “Pardon us, Serenity—we did not mean—”

“No,” Maia said. “We would like to know as well.” It sunk in that this change would in fact mean many tiny changes. It meant his blood was now different from his mother’s blood. It might mean he could no longer drink the tea she drank.

“Of course you can have it, Serenity,” Doctor Ushenar said. “We think it will do you good.”

It was Csevet who went to the door to call for the tea, now that he knew his place in the room was assured.

“So we can have food and drink as normal,” Maia said. Perhaps it was only another fancy that vampires must drink blood and scorn normal food and drink.

But Doctor Ushenar was stiff, as if restraining some emotion. “We’re afraid not, Serenity.”

Maia studied Doctor Ushenar’s careworn face. He had some goblin blood, Maia thought, though rather less than he did. His hair was silvery-white from age. It was a different shade from the ivory white of younger elves such as Csevet or any of his nohecharei. He looked kind, Maia thought. He must have delivered bad news many times before. He wondered if he’d delivered the news of Pazhiro’s death to his father.

“We can explain it in detail to you,” Doctor Ushenar said, and paused, glancing at Csevet. “Are you sure you don’t want more privacy for this?”

No, Maia needed him more than ever. “He will have to advise us after this,” Maia said, “so it is best that he learn everything.”

“As you wish, Serenity,” Doctor Ushenar said, and Maia couldn’t help but wonder just then if he’d made a mistake. Perhaps whatever it was Doctor Ushenar had to say was so horrific he wouldn’t want Csevet to know it. Csevet might even be horrified enough to leave his service. It was a vast, terrifying unknown.

But just then, Esha came in with the chamomile tea. He placed the tray in front of Maia with trembling hands, just managing not to spill it, and looked at Maia with wide, riveted eyes in the dimly-lit room, barely choking out a “Serenity.” Maia noticed his neck was covered with a scarf, though there was as much wonder and relief as fear in his eyes. Maia wished he could somehow put him at ease. Perhaps he ought to make a show of drinking the tea. However, it was still too hot.

As Esha left, the scent of his nearness lingered in the air. Had Maia not noted the sweetness of his perfume before? Or was this one of many small things that had changed for him.

The doctor began to speak, and Maia listened.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Ushenar explained that solid foods were not likely to agree with him, but most liquids would be all right. Water was especially advised, as well as broths, if they were not too heavily seasoned, especially with garlic or salt. He was counseled against metheglin and other spirits, as well as willow bark tea. That last item distressed Maia somewhat, as he would have liked something for his head, but it seemed it was mildly toxic to vampires.

In his mind, Maia was already bargaining with this change. He would miss solid foods, but he could survive this way. Perhaps, he thought, trying to find some bright side in this mess, it might make his tedious royal dinners shorter.

He tried sipping the chamomile tea, now that it was cooler. For a moment he recoiled from it—the taste was completely changed. In the paranoia following his assault, he even wondered if it had been drugged for a moment. But mulling over the flavor, he recognized notes that were somehow familiar to the taste of chamomile, if distorted, stronger. It was like parts of the taste had been amplified, while aspects he was more accustomed to had become muted. It wasn’t the tea, of course. It was him. It could be worse. At least he could drink it. With a guilty glance at how his nohecharei had tensed at his reaction, he took another sip.

“So, if we drink other fluids, we will have no need of blood?” Maia asked. He envisioned a long, spartan diet of teas and broths. He might get used to it in time.

But Doctor Ushenar looked weary. “No, Serenity. We’re afraid there is no gentle way of saying what needs to be said. But it is important that you know it.”

Dread twisted his guts. “Please tell us, then.”

“Your Serenity will require a supplementary diet of fresh blood. Animal blood will not suffice—it must be from people. But, Serenity….”

“How much blood?” Maia cut in. “They wouldn’t be harmed, would they?”

“Serenity,” Doctor Ushenar said. “That is…the difficult matter. A made vampire must take a life soon after their making. After that, it is possible to take blood without doing the donor harm, but that first time cannot be avoided.”

Maia grabbed Doctor Ushenar’s hand—to ground himself, or in panic, he wasn’t sure. He saw a flicker of fear in Doctor Ushenar’s eyes, and cursed himself for behaving in any way that could be seen as aggressive. His nohecharei had not moved. Had they known him better, or if they thought he was going to kill the doctor on the spot, was that simply not their concern? They were sworn to protect his life and only his, after all.

And Csevet…Csevet hadn’t moved either. He was listening, intently, though somehow Maia suspected none of this was new information to him. He did not seem afraid or repulsed, but Maia couldn’t read him at all.

“Forgive us,” Maia said, releasing the doctor’s hand, and wondering if Beshelar still found his apologies inappropriate. “We simply wondered if there might not be a way around that requirement. If we were restrained, perhaps, and given blood from a container.”

Doctor Ushenar shook his head. “Serenity, regretfully, that would result in your death. That was why we needed to caution you on this matter. It is of vital importance in this period that you not take blood from anyone you don’t intend to kill. If you did, you would either be compelled to kill them, or endanger your own life. We would strongly advise you avoid all such temptations until a…suitable donor may be found.”

“A…suitable donor,” Maia repeated. He stared blankly ahead in shock. Suitable in what way? Someone already dying? Someone no one would miss? He felt like dry-retching with nothing but chamomile tea in his stomach.

Finally, he was able to make his lips move again. “How long do we have?”

Doctor Ushenar coughed. “It is a subject extensively cloaked in secrecy, for the obvious reasons, Serenity,” he said. “Most made vampires do not have the imperial right to take a life that you do. Detailed accounts are difficult to come by. But it seems doubtful you can count on more than a week before you must make your decision,” he said. “And…Serenity, perhaps your faculties of reason will be sharper the sooner it is made.”

“We will go mad until we kill someone,” Maia said. Just to hear the horrible truth of it out loud, not couched in niceties. “That is…what you are saying.”

“Serenity…we very much regret how this news must find you. We thought it important that you know.”

Maia fell silent, aware that all eyes were on him, but able to do no more than sit there, breathing, sick and sore and dizzy, panic aching behind his ribs. He noticed, in that still moment, that he couldn’t feel his own pulse. It wasn’t normally very noticeable, but he could feel the thrum in his chest when he let his focus fall inward, as he did when he meditated. Now it seemed to be gone. _Not dead, but slowed_ , the doctor had said. He still drew in air like he was drowning, but for an experiment, he stopped drawing air. Seconds passed, and more, and he felt no particular desperation to breathe. His gaze panned over to his nohecharaei and Csevet, still standing there, not afraid or deserting even though they had heard that he must take a life or die himself. As a flight of fancy, he wondered if he might die normally from neglecting to breathe like this, and be spared that fate. But looking at Cala and Beshelar, he realized by sparing one life, he’d kill his four nohecharei.

 _Three_ , the reminder came, harsher than it needed to be.

“We see that the news comes as a great shock to you,” Doctor Ushenar said, “and do not wish to overburden Your Serenity just now. You seem to be recovering well, all things considered. We saw to your wound earlier. Are you in any pain?”

“Yes,” Maia said. He drew breath to speak, of course, forgetting his experiment. “Our head. And our limbs are sore. And….” He realized he didn’t know what he’d meant to say before trailing off. There was another sensation, one he’d classified as ‘pain,’ yet didn’t know how to describe.

Doctor Ushenar nodded. “It is not unexpected, Serenity. If the pain persists, we might prescribe a narcotic extract, but we think it best to not do so before you have made your choice, as it may dull your wits.”

“We understand,” Maia said. Dulling his wits now could be very dangerous for those around him. He didn’t want that. “It was not a very severe complaint.” Actually, his head really seemed about to split open, but it seemed there was nothing to be done about it.

“We think it best you focus on your recovery for the time being,” the doctor said. “Drink ample water, and tend to your body’s needs. You may find you need more rest than you did, at least at first.” Maia thought that he’d already slept for three days and so ought to have built up a credit, but only gave a slight nod, sparing his head too much movement.

“We’ll leave this here for you,” the doctor continued, laying a book or two and some papers on Maia’s nightstand. “But don’t overwhelm yourself at first. Summon us if you have any questions, or if your wound worsens, or if….” Doctor Ushenar’s mouth hung open a moment, but whatever words he’d intended to say never came.

“If we feel ourselves beginning to go mad,” Maia supplied.

“Summon us if you have _any_ concern or need,” the doctor said firmly. “Anything we might help you with.”

That didn’t seem to be much at all. But it wasn’t his fault.

Maia’s hand drifted to his neck again after he’d dismissed the doctor. _Who did this to me?_

He noticed Csevet again, standing primly, his ears carried high but stiffly enough it looked as though he was holding them there so as not to let them droop. His neck, unlike Esha’s, was not covered by any fabric, and the collar of his shirt was low enough to see the start of his collarbones. Maia looked away in shame; as if merely noticing it had been shameful. It meant Csevet trusted him, though. That meant something, though Maia hadn’t looked for it and wouldn’t have begrudged Csevet caution here. It was a powerful gesture. But it made him hard to look at.

“Csevet,” Maia said, to acknowledge his presence, and let him know he was welcome to speak.

“Serenity,” Csevet said, falling into a graceful bow deeper than the occasion warranted, and rising flushed. “We are pleased to see you have awakened.”

How was it that Maia felt, in those sparse, formal words, they had said more than in most entire conversations? He acknowledged that he might have imagined it. But he wondered if this was something that was normal between friends.

“We imagine we have missed a great deal of important business,” Maia said. He hoped it came off as at least a little bit funny. He thought it was funny. No one laughed.

“Serenity,” Csevet said again, his brows raising. “It has been pandemonium.” He paused. “But perhaps you should rest before troubling yourself with these matters.”

“That’s all right,” Maia said, “we’ve had plenty of rest already.”

“We did not mean to rush you at such a time,” Csevet said. “With the help of your nohecharei, we have handled affairs thus far, and can continue if you need more time to recover.”

“We are not certain recovery is what time will bring us,” Maia said, considering the doctor’s words. “Sooner rather than later, we think.”

Csevet nodded. “In the Tortoise Room in twenty minutes, then?” he suggested.

Maia realized that they were, of course, in his bedroom, and he was wearing only his nightclothes. Fine for a doctor’s visit, but inappropriate for anything else. “Yes, of course,” he said. He wondered why Csevet had been in such a hurry to see him. Was the ‘pandemonium’ that bad? Concern for his well-being certainly made sense, and he’d like to believe it was only that. Or perhaps Csevet had wanted to make sure it was really _him_ that woke up.

He tried not to get too lost in speculation. He couldn’t know Csevet’s thoughts, and he would see him in twenty minutes anyway. Instead, he summoned his edocharei to prepare him.

All three wore neck coverings, which he simultaneously felt wounded by and grateful for. Their mannerisms were not quite fearful, but nervous as they had been when they first began to serve him. Maia moved only when directed to by them, to put them at ease as much as he could. He wanted to say something that would show them he was the same emperor they had come to trust before, but having his hair brushed while his head was the way it was drove all thoughts from his mind, and he’d never been much of a conversationalist to begin with. Perhaps it was the less terrifying option that he kept his mouth closed, anyway.

He was adorned simply, at his own request, but in the Imperial white. So not mourning his own death, he thought wryly. When he showed discomfort at his hair being pulled tight for the tashin sticks, it was braided more simply instead. He worried this would cause a delay, but Avris’s deft fingers worked so quickly his long hair had been gently plaited into loose but ornamental braids and adorned with jewels in under two minutes.

The scents of the three of them in such close proximity were not without effect, and Maia felt the ache he’d thought of as a third indescribable pain grow within him. He let his thoughts wander to avoid dwelling on this, but what his mind found to dwell on instead was little better. He thought of Dazhis’s betrayal, and wondered what would happen to him, that Cala had not seen fit to trouble him with in that moment. He thought, with great pain, that someone he’d considered a friend had assisted in this assault on him, and caused him to be turned into this. Another terrible thought began to surface in his mind, but he turned away from it before it could fully form.

No. He would wait until he knew more, not drive himself mad with fears and wild guesses in a situation he knew he didn’t yet understand. What he did know was already bad enough.

When he was fully dressed, Maia set out with his nohecharei, who carefully checked the hall before letting him enter it. Maia staggered to a stop only a few steps out, however. His own room had been kept dim, but full daylight was shining through the corridors of the Alcethmeret, and reflecting on all the white stone as it would on fresh snowfall. The pain in his head spiked, and he considered it a small triumph that he didn’t have to reach out to steady himself.

It took him a moment to notice that someone had, in fact, hung curtains up wherever it was practical to do so, and the corridor was more shaded than it usually was. It was just that the highly-vaulted architecture was made to be open to light from many angles, and there didn’t seem to be any way of blocking it all off in a hurry. It already looked as though a peasant had hung their laundry up to dry in the halls of the Alcethmeret. If peasants had laundry that extravagant, he conceded.

It was harder for him to see in the dazzling light, but he wasn’t entirely blind. He braced himself to walk into it. “The sunlight won’t burn me, I take it?” Maia asked. It wasn’t really rhetorical; he rather hoped either Cala or Beshelar would know. By their expressions, neither did. He did momentarily consider going back and checking the book the doctor had left him, but Csevet had said twenty minutes, and if he had any sense of time left, that meant he only had another three minutes or so to walk down there. He didn’t think very hard on the fact that he was emperor and Csevet was only his secretary, and if he wanted he could postpone their meeting as long as he liked. Right now, he just wanted something to go as it should. And besides, he reasoned, the doctor would have warned him if he had anything to fear from sunlight.

So he put one foot ahead of the other, and went onward.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a difficult, lonely walk to the Tortoise Room. They passed almost no one—the only people other than his nohecharei he saw in the halls were two of his own Drazhadeise guards standing at the end of one long passageway his path intersected. The fact that he passed no one, then, was very likely intentional.

The corridor which led into the Tortoise Room was sealed off against the light better, which allowed Maia to see it in more detail. He noticed a deep crack with charred edges in the wall near the door, and a shiver went through him. It had certainly not been there before. He realized that he’d seen dark spots in the white stone earlier in the walk here as well, but had discounted them since his sun-dazzled eyes were seeing illusory specks anyway. There was no mistaking this damage for an optical illusion, however. The crack was torn into the stone as if scorched by lightning. The only thing he knew that could do that was the maza’s gift. He turned to Cala in alarm, and Cala’s eyes met his, weary but telling him nothing.

“We’re here, Serenity,” Cala said softly, using the plural. Maia understood the suggestion. He’d find his answers inside, with Csevet.

Maia stepped into the amber room, which like his bedroom, had been dimmed in preparation for his presence. Csevet stood waiting tensely, and greeted him immediately.

It was a relief for Maia to sit down. He had the sense that there were matters he needed to attend to quite urgently, if the scorchmarks in the halls were any indication, but his body hardly felt up to the task. _Thou hast slept for three days already_ , he reminded himself, but his body protested that what it had been through was more than sleep could cure.

Csevet hadn’t spoken yet. Did Maia need to speak first? He thought it seemed likely that Csevet was avoiding being disrespectful. “Yes, Csevet?” he managed, immediately hating how the words sounded childish.

Csevet’s ears dipped, studying him. “Are you...all right, Serenity?”

Even spoken in the formal, that was unmistakably a personal question. It was entirely inappropriate, and that was why Maia treasured it. It struck him that if he’d been assaulted in this way before becoming emperor, no one in all the world would have cared. So someone saying something like that to him mattered; it mattered a lot. He wanted to answer in a way that would somehow encourage Csevet, and show his appreciation. But the truth would not do, because the truth was that he was absolutely, in no way all right, and he needed to be stronger than that. But Csevet surely knew that when he asked it.

“We are concerned,” Maia said, “and we...will have to manage.”

Csevet took a deep breath that could have been in relief or dread. “We have heavy news for you, if you are ready to bear it.”

He wasn’t ready. But he had to. And by Csevet’s face, he thought they both knew it. “Please tell us what has transpired in our absence.”

“Yes, Serenity,” Csevet said. “It might make more sense to start from the beginning.” He did so, in a clear voice, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “You were found just before dawn. At that point, your disappearance was a secret, known only to those of us directly in your service, to your abductors, and to the maid who had found you in a supply room, whom we swore to absolute secrecy. We...believed you to be dead at first. It would have been our duty to report this, but something so monumental must be confirmed first, because of the distress it would cause.”

Distress, Maia thought, and possibly a struggle for the throne. He listened.

“Because of the manner of injuries, we suspected the involvement of a vampire, which led to further examinations of your...of you.”

“I was bitten,” Maia said, to clarify. He hadn’t yet looked under the bandages covering his neck, though the area radiated pain.

“Not quite, Serenity. Your neck was cut with a knife. That was why we believed it to be a...more standard assassination at first. We believed at first you had been moved, explaining the unexpectedly small amount of blood at the scene. You may still have been moved, but the lack of blood, along with bruising at the site of the wound, led us to examine other possibilities.”

“Why use a knife?” Maia asked. He didn’t have to ask if vampires had fangs. If the goal was to make everyone think he was dead, why not actually kill him? If the goal was to make it known he was a vampire, why not a more easily identifiable mark?

“We cannot be sure,” Csevet said. “It may have just been easier to do it quickly that way.”

Maia nodded, appalled, and Csevet continued. “We rejoiced that you were not dead, of course. But the discovery also meant...a different set of complications.”

Maia thought of the scorch marks in the hall. “We are still emperor...are we not?”

To his concern, Csevet’s answer was not immediate. “Serenity...that is complicated at the moment.” Csevet collected himself before continuing. “This has a history, though one which is not often talked about.”

That woke something in Maia’s shaken memory. Setheris had taught him something of this.

“Edrethevera,” Maia said, “The....” The number eluded him, and he sat with his mouth hanging open like a fool.

“Edrethevera the Twenty-Fourth,” Csevet said, smoothing over Maia’s lapse without any sign of judgment. “As you may already know, Serenity, his father Edrethevera the Twenty-Third married a vampire woman. Their children bred true to their mother’s bloodline, as sometimes happens. So Edrethevera the Twenty-Fourth was a vampire by birth. There were disruptions over this. Fears that—that such a bloodline was objectionable for an emperor, especially as it might continue to breed true. His cousin challenged his rule, and gained enough support that though Edrethevera was emperor by birthright, he was overthrown by his cousin Edrehazhor the Second. Curiously, he never wrote anything about vampire blood into law. The imperial line has simply avoided all marriages with vampires and dhampirs since then.”

“We remember,” Maia said, “your objections to Paru Tethemin.” Paru was neither a vampire nor a dhampir, but as both her parents were dhampirs and her brother was a dhampir as well, it had been considered a risk that she might be a carrier. Maia reflected that that concern, at least, had become obsolete.

“Yes, Serenity,” Csevet said, and Maia wondered if he’d had the same thought. “We apologize for the diversion into history when matters are so pressing, but it is relevant to your situation. Though it is not law, public opinion is such that becoming a vampire would immediately disqualify you from your post. So we thought to keep the matter quiet, at least until you awoke and could make a decision on it.

“It did not wait for us, did it?”

“No, Serenity. There were several noble houses who suddenly knew much more than they should. Through our inquiries and piecing together the information we have in the aftermath, it became clear the person who spread that information was Princess Sheveän. We are aware that there are many ways to acquire information in the Untheileneise Court, but we have much reason to believe she knew because she was directly involved.”

“It was her,” Maia said, shocked. He’d thought they didn’t know.

“It was not her who turned you, Serenity,” Csevet said, “as she was not a vampire. But we believe she was involved in the plot, yes.”

“Can she be questioned?”

Csevet paused, as if struggling to restrain some emotion. “We’re afraid not, Serenity. Princess Sheveän is dead. To cut it all very brief, she led a direct uprising, claiming Prince Idra as the rightful heir. She was opposed by your household and our allies. Many of the important houses stayed out of it entirely, but we were briefly at war.”

At war. That was the cause of the marks in the hall. And that, he realized, was the true cause behind the exhaustion of his nohecharei, and the deep weariness in Cala’s eyes. They had fought a war for him while he slept.

His people did not deserve to have war brought to them for the dubious honor of a vampire emperor.

“The tide began to turn against Princess Sheveän, and several of her allies abandoned her. Finally, she must have believed she had gambled and lost. She took her own life, though not before attempting to take the lives of her three children.”

“ _What_ ,” Maia said in shock, all pretense of propriety discarded. Then, “You say she attempted it. Are they all right?”

“Ino is dead,” Csevet said, his voice carefully controlled. “Mireän and Idra have sustained serious injuries. Neither has woken yet.”

Maia shook. His brief encounters with the three children flashed before his eyes. Ino had been so young. She couldn’t have understood any of this. He couldn’t imagine anyone willingly doing harm to that tiny, trusting child. And yet it was her own mother who had done this.

Tears fell down his face, past his open, trembling lips. He felt strangely feverish and faint. Something like this had happened over whether he should rule. He would have abdicated, without hesitation, if he had known.

He saw that Csevet and his nohecharei were silently staring at him. Was it improper for their emperor to weep? He didn’t care. That mattered less than anything possibly could at this present moment. A sob racked its way through his aching body, and he lifted his hand to wipe his tears. It was then that he understood why they had stared. Staining his white sleeve were drops of blood. His tears.

Maia looked back up at Csevet and his nohecharei, lost. He realized that they had just fought a war for him, and they were tired and afraid, and they needed him very much right now—they needed an emperor who was strong. _Thy strength didst nothing to help those children_ , he thought harshly, then accepted while there was nothing he could do for Ino, Idra’s position—orphaned, gravely injured, and unconscious—would not be improved by a struggle for power in his absence. “They are being cared for?” he asked at length. “Idra and Mireän.”

“Of course, Serenity,” Csevet said. He paused and offered Maia a clean handkerchief of his own, though Maia doubtlessly had one in the many folds of his imperial clothing. Maia took it, and their fingers touched briefly. Somehow Csevet’s skin felt cool next to his own.

Csevet gave Maia a chance to wipe his face, and continued. “It was the Lord Chancellor who led the charge to break down her door. If she had not been rushed, she might have killed all three. However, Serenity, you should know that the Lord Chancellor initially took Princess Sheveän’s side. His support was extremely influential, and made the war much more heated than it otherwise would have been. He has now sworn loyalty to you again. We made an attempt to take him into custody despite that, but with our limited resources at the moment, that has proven difficult. He will not go willingly, and has demanded to speak with you.” Csevet spat that last bit as if he wanted to add, ‘as if he has the right.’

“We understand,” Maia said. “Has...anything else happened in our absence?”

“Things have been quieter since Princess Sheveän’s death,” Csevet said. “We have been attempting to ameliorate some of the damage she’s done, though we are not sure how much that is possible. What she did in the end has caused considerable damage to her reputation. We used that to spread the rumor that everything she said was false, including her claims about your condition.”

“But our condition is as she said,” Maia said.

“Yes, Serenity. And if it becomes known that that is true...we are not certain what will happen.”

“Was it wise to give them such an impression?” Csevet himself had said earlier that it was not against any law to be emperor and a vampire.

“It was exceedingly dangerous,” Csevet admitted, “but in the moment, Serenity, we hope you will understand, many of the noble houses, including those uninvolved in the conflict, were refusing to swear loyalty to you. It was no longer open fighting, but it seemed likely to erupt into a second, larger dispute at any moment. We could not compel them without either another war or a lie. Your Serenity was not with us, yet, and—we hope you will forgive us, but with the counsel of your nohecharei, we chose the lie on your behalf.”

“We do not think you chose wrong, then,” Maia said. “But how will we keep this pretense? The doctor knows.”

“Doctor Ushenar has been invaluable in supporting the facade,” Csevet said. “He has confirmed to the public that you merely sustained mundane injuries. That there was an assassination attempt and that you were gravely injured is now public knowledge. It has given your guard ample reason to allow no one near you for the time being. Public appearances can be delayed, though if they are delayed for too long, suspicion will certainly grow again.”

“Can anyone possibly be fooled?” Maia asked. _Wouldn’t it be suspicious if the emperor never opened his mouth?_ he wondered.

“There are techniques,” Csevet said, a bit dubiously. “We think it is worth trying, for the sake of peace.”

Maia’s head swam with all the devastating things he had learned in so short a time: his own affliction and its horrifying _requirement_ ; Dazhis’s betrayal; the hideously unfair death of Ino and the tenuous condition of Mireän and Idra, and the fact that a war had just been fought within the walls of the only place he could call his home.

“If it’s for the sake of peace, we suppose we will have to.”


	4. Chapter 4

“What is the most pressing matter for us now?” Maia asked. He felt like a fool having to even ask that—was he not emperor?—but with all this overwhelming news pressing on him, he really had no idea what needed to be done first to hold things together. Without Csevet, he would likely stumble in circles until he collapsed. No, without Csevet, would they even have realized he wasn’t dead in time? Before his nohecharei…it didn’t bear thinking about.

Even Csevet seemed unsure. “It…would probably be readying you to be seen by others. Not the least because you need to find a new nohecharis.”

“Ah,” Maia said. The thoughts he’d tried to cut off before circled back. If he _had_ died, would Dazhis have committed revethvoran with the others? What was his fate now?

“Serenity,” Cala cut in. “We appreciate it, but please don’t feel you need to consider our needs over those of the empire at this time.”

Maia understood what they were getting at. Three nohecharei were not enough under ordinary circumstances, and they must be exhausted from the fighting.

“Telimezh will be here soon,” Beshelar said. “It’s almost time for his shift.”

“Yes, he will be here to relieve you soon,” Cala said. There was a bit of an edge to his words.

Beshelar coughed. “We believe you mean to relieve you.”

“We rested more recently.”

Csevet made a small exasperated noise, and snapped, “This is why His Serenity needs a fourth nohecharis. He needs protecting now more than ever, which the three of you can’t do if you work yourselves to death.” He stopped suddenly, shocked at his own outburst, and quickly turned to bow to Maia. “Forgive us, Serenity. We are…not at our best today either.”

Maia thought that if this was not Csevet’s best, Csevet was even more of a treasure than he seemed. “You were not in the wrong, Csevet,” he said.

“Serenity!” Beshelar objected. “It is true that you should have four nohecharei. But your safety is in good hands for the time being, do not fear. Cala alone singlehandedly felled seventeen foes in your service these last three days.”

Cala did not seem to take any pleasure in Beshelar’s boast on his behalf. If anything, the weariness set into his face seemed to deepen.

“We were not aware,” Maia said. “Though perhaps we should have guessed it. It was war. It seems to us that having done so much, you deserve rest.”

“Then Your Serenity is in agreement with us. Using the maza’s gift requires recuperation,” Beshelar said, misunderstanding. Maia had meant that it was important to find a fourth nohecharis, not take a side in their disagreement as to who should rest. They both seemed to need it in equal measure. Beshelar was starting to wobble on his feet, and Cala…Cala looked tired in a way that went down to his bones.

“It wasn’t as though we used a revethmaz for each one,” Cala said, so low Maia had to strain to hear him. “What we need isn’t sleep. We are rested.”

That struck Maia deeply. It was a feeling he shared at the moment. Though exhaustion and pain still clung to him, his problems would not be solved by sleeping. “Beshelar,” Maia said. “When Telimezh comes, go to bed.”

“Yes, Serenity,” Beshelar said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t as resistant or prideful about it as Maia thought he would be. He seemed almost satisfied to have been given a solid order from a superior, even if it went against his wishes.

There was one more thing Maia needed to ask. He didn’t think it was one anyone in the room wanted to answer, but he thought it better to ask before Telimezh arrived. “What happened to Dazhis?”

“He’s in custody in the Mazan’theileian,” Csevet answered.

“What will happen to him next?”

Csevet didn’t answer immediately, so Cala said, “Under normal circumstances, he would have to commit revethvoran.”

But these were not normal circumstances. “Can there be some clemency? We think that enough have died already.”

Those words seemed to cut at Cala. “His life is forfeit, Serenity. He broke an oath. But….” He stopped. He couldn’t say it.

Csevet took up the banner, though for the first time, Maia wished he would just be silent. “We were afraid to say this before, but it did occur to us that perhaps it would be easier to move forward once your requirement was…gotten over with. Since your condition must remain a secret, it seemed obvious that Dazhis’s disappearance would be the easiest to explain. It would be much harder to explain someone else, and we did not even wish to consider taking the life of someone innocent.”

Something in Maia’s guts twisted sharply. The image came to his mind, all too real, of himself killing Dazhis Athmaza. Seeing the familiar face that had watched over him as he slept, his companion and someone he had once wished could be a friend, and then draining the life out of him. Feeling him die in his arms. He knew suddenly he was going to be unable to hold his thin breakfast of chamomile tea, and lurched to his feet, searching for a receptacle. Spotting a wastepaper basket, he crouched over it and retched miserably in spasmodic waves.

When he was able to stop, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Cala. His touch was gentle. Maia only saw the folds of his robe on the ground next to him. He didn’t raise his head to look him in the eye.

Underneath the powerful revulsion, something in him had stirred when he imagined killing Dazhis—something that had started like pain, and had grown to feel more like need.

Maia’s voice came out a thin, choked whisper. “I can’t.” He repeated it. “I can’t. I can’t.”

Everyone in the room was stock-still, frozen. Maia couldn’t have shocked them more if he’d commanded them to perform obscenities. If anything, that might have been less disruptive. At least a command would come from an emperor. At that moment, he was no emperor. He was a frightened teenage boy.

Then something happened that broke the tension as if smashing the glass that encased them with a hammer. Cala leaned forward on his knees, and wrapped his arms around Maia in a tight embrace.

At first Maia was too shocked to move. He hadn’t been embraced since losing his mother. He hadn’t expected this; hadn’t dared to hope. Then he lifted his arms and clung to Cala.

The transgression of that moment seemed to echo between the silent walls of the Tortoise Room. For that minute, the kingdom went without an emperor so a boy could be comforted.

Maia could hear Cala’s heart. He could feel his pulse, pressed against him so tightly. The pain-need in him clawed at his insides, hollowing him out. It hurt him, but it didn’t tempt him. What he needed most from Cala now was simply this; this embrace, this bit of forbidden kindness. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Beshelar was standing by the door. Protecting him, he realized. Making sure nothing could intrude on this moment. Maia didn’t even care if it was because he was ashamed of him. He was grateful.

When Maia was able to let Cala go, they parted enough to sit next to each other on the floor, and Csevet poured a glass of water from an ornate pitcher, and brought it to Maia.

“Thank you,” Maia said, taking it.

“We are sorry,” Csevet said. “We did not mean to upset you so.”

Maia drank some of the water, washing away the foul taste in his mouth. “It was not your fault,” he said. “It is…not you that upsets us.”

Csevet nodded. “It can be delayed for the time being. We did not wish to pressure you.”

 _For how long_ , Maia wondered. Csevet had been right, of course. The sooner it was done with, the better for everyone. Everyone but Dazhis, though Maia didn’t even know how much he cared for his feelings now, in the wake of all the ruin he’d caused. But it was simply something he could not do. He wondered if, as the blood-madness inside him grew, it would get easier for him. Perhaps that was the only way he could manage it. Let it grow until he was nothing more than a rabid animal, and allow his nohecharei to loose him on their former companion.

It was hard not to retch again. He forced down the rest of the water.

Beshelar offered him a hand up, and Maia accepted it and let himself be pulled to his feet. Beshelar’s hand was rough and callused. Like Csevet’s, it felt somewhat cool to him.

“Serenity,” Beshelar said, acknowledging him. He looked uncomfortable, but not scandalized.

Maia gave a slight nod to him, and to Cala. “Thank you,” he said to Cala. The moment might be over, but he still needed to say that.

Cala responded with something that was more than a nod but less than a bow. There was nothing appropriate for him to say, so he said nothing. It was enough for Maia, seeing that his gratitude had been heard and understood.

“Csevet,” Maia said, “what is required of us to make us fit to be seen by others?”

“Serenity,” Csevet said, cautiously. “There are of course many subtle tells, most of which would require a doctor’s examination. Since it would be improper for anyone other than your physician to examine you so, the most important matter is the immediate superficial difference.”

“Our teeth,” Maia said.

“Yes, Serenity.” He looked unhappy. “We’re told the process of filing them down is painful. This is…our fault for leading you down this path.”

“We would rather be rid of them anyway,” Maia said. He wondered for a moment if he would need them in order to…do whatever he must do, in the end, but then thought that even given that very limited choice, his teeth were not what he would have chosen to use to kill someone.

“Yes, Serenity,” Csevet said, looking no more pleased about any of this. “We can arrange for that first, then. We will inform the doctor to make preparations. When Telimezh arrives, you should visit Doctor Ushenar’s office. We may…be a bit busy with other duties, regretfully, but we will be there to assist you when you have recovered.”

Maia had no doubt that Csevet was busy, but he didn’t think Csevet had wanted to watch it, either. There was a trace of guilt on his face, and he looked a shade paler than usual. He had not thought of Csevet as at all squeamish, but maybe it was different when it was him. He wondered what horrors Csevet had already witnessed. He must have seen Maia’s body when he was believed to be dead.

Csevet left with a bow when dismissed, and shortly after Telimezh arrived. He walked with a slight limp, which might have explained the delay, but this was not the most noticeable thing about him. Instead of his usual soldier’s topknot, his hair was haphazardly shorn to an inch or less from his scalp. He bowed to Maia so low that he had to bring one bent leg forward to support himself. It seemed one of his legs was injured in some way.

“Serenity,” he said. “We beg forgiveness for continuing in your service while you recovered.”

“Forgiveness?” Maia repeated. Did Telimezh wish to leave him, now that he was changed? He realized he had no idea how Telimezh felt about vampires—he hadn’t known how any of them did. He might have been very lucky so far to meet so little resistance from those close to him.

“We would have resigned for failing you immediately, but Lieutenant Beshelar convinced us we owed you service at least until you awoke, especially since there was no opportunity to find a replacement.” Looking at the uneven tufts of white hair sticking out from his head, Maia wondered what had happened. It was surely a mark of disgrace. Telimezh must have taken it very hard when he was found seemingly dead. But that did not mean his desire to leave now couldn’t also be genuine.

Maia didn’t wish to compel Telimezh to stay in the company of a vampire against his wishes, or to protect someone he might not feel worthy to be emperor. But knowing Dazhis had already betrayed him, he could do nothing to control the pain he felt of another of his nohecharei abandoning him now. All of his feelings, however, had no bearing on the reality of the situation. He knew what he must say.

“We need your service right now,” Maia said. “You cannot be replaced. And even if you could, every new person brought into this situation endangers us. Unless your injuries will prevent you,” Maia added, leaving him a route of escape if he was desperate, “you must continue as our nohecharis for the time being.”

Telimezh bowed immediately, nearly unbalancing himself. “Serenity,” he said. “We will do as you command.”

Maia studied his face, not able to read it. Was it relief? Fear? Shame? He looked like a copy of Beshelar, a wooden soldier.

With that all said, Beshelar was dismissed to get his rest, and Maia set off to Doctor Ushenar’s office with his mismatched nohecharei.


	5. Chapter 5

Telimezh walked close at his side, as if he thought Maia looked about to totter over at any moment, and wanted to be there to catch him. It was just as well Maia didn’t stumble, as he rather thought he’d have taken Telimezh down with him.

There was an unfamiliar tang to the air that Maia began to notice. It stirred something in him—whatever had been stirred in him before, under the revulsion and panic, when he had imagined killing Dazhis. He realized, uncomfortably, that the scent came from Telimezh. He hadn’t recognized it as blood at first, having only the taste of sucking on his own fingers after an accidental cut for reference, but he knew that was what it must be. It had some kind of power over him that his own tears had not.

Telimezh swallowed hard and stared stonily ahead, and Maia realized he’d been staring at him. Not just staring—he’d been giving him a look of disgust. Telimezh had probably misinterpreted the reason for it. Maia wanted to say something, but what could he say? The truth could only make it worse. So they just continued on in stiff, awkward silence.

Maia tried holding his breath again, as a second experiment. It made the scent less powerful, though he was still aware of it. After several minutes of walking, he began to feel the desire to breathe again. As the doctor had said, he was not dead. Not quite.

Doctor Ushenar’s office smelled strongly of some kind of harsh cleaner, but under that Maia noticed that same sharp, compelling tang of blood. Patients must have been treated here recently. Some of the wounded might still be nearby. A section of the room was curtained off, and Maia suddenly worried there was an injured patient right beyond it. In a surge of wild, irrational fear, he thought it might be Idra or Mireän, and realized he didn’t know the limits of his control around someone badly wounded.

The curtain drew aside, and Maia saw that only Doctor Ushenar was there. Maia felt a wave of both relief and foolishness. The smell of blood must have had him on edge. Of course the patients would be in other rooms, probably on the other side of the door at the end of the room.

“Serenity. Mer Aisava has informed us of your desires.”

Maia nodded. “Have you prepared for it?” He noticed a smooth metal table as well as a padded leather chair with restraints like thick belts. Neither of these boded particularly well for him, but Maia steeled himself.

“We cannot recommend it,” Doctor Ushenar said. “Your healing abilities will be much stronger after your first feeding.”

“That cannot be done right now,” Maia said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child. “This is more urgent.”

The doctor approached him. “May we examine you, Serenity?”

Maia nodded his assent, and the doctor felt his wrists, his forehead, and his neck. “You are feverish, Serenity. It is your maker’s blood burning in you.”

“What is it doing to us?” Maia asked. His voice came out even more small and frightened than he was prepared for.

“Keeping you from death, Serenity. Until you partake of blood for yourself, it is only your maker’s power that sustains you. Damaging your fangs will cause bleeding, and we would not advise bleeding any more than necessary.”

Maia’s thoughts went in desperate, frustrated circles. _I won’t murder Dazhis_ , was the principal one, though he hadn’t found a way around that yet. He needed time. Time to think, to find some other option. To wake up from this nightmare, maybe. But would losing blood from this procedure shorten the time he had left to live before taking more blood, thus forcing him to make the decision sooner? How many days did he have left? Had he lost hours by weeping?

However, he couldn’t ask his nohecharei to continue on like this, and he couldn’t meet with whoever he had to meet with to keep peace if he had fangs. He might have a day or two more to stare helplessly at his fate like a frightened rabbit if he delayed the procedure, but a lot of good it would do if all the Ethuveraz was at war by then.

“We must have it done now,” Maia said. “That…is an order, Doctor.”

Doctor Ushenar bowed. “Serenity, I will prepare the narcotic extract.”

“Didn’t you say that was dangerous?” Maia asked.

“Everything about this is dangerous, Serenity. We will restrain you as a precaution.”

“No,” Maia said. “We will forego the narcotic.”

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Ushenar said.

Maia felt even more like a child. Was he not emperor? “That is also an order, Doctor.”

“We will not do it. It’s medically and ethically irresponsible. By Csaivo, we should already lose our certification just for this. Take the narcotic, or charge us with treason if you think that to be wiser.”

Maia stood shocked into silence as if slapped. Doctors didn’t like being second-guessed, he recalled. Chenelo’s doctors had always acted like they knew everything. But they hadn’t, had they?

His head hurt too much to think straight, to argue with this. What was more pain? Everything already hurt.

He would have to do it the doctor’s way, though. Right now he needed him too much—his aid as well as his silence. Forcing his face into a mask of calm, he said, “Very well. Prepare it for us.”

As the doctor worked on his preparation, Maia looked around the office, trying not to pace. The only place to sit was on the chair with the restraints, but he thought he’d sit there when he had to and no sooner. The office itself was clean and tidy, but crowded with many labeled bottles in glass cabinets. Nothing was as ornate as the rest of the Alcethmeret, but it all still looked well-made in a sturdy, heavy sort of way.

Maia’s attention fell to a small circular mirror lying on the worktable. He hadn’t seen himself clearly since the transformation, and he wondered how many of the old legends were true anyway. They said vampires had no reflections and cast no shadow, but he could see his shadow, plain and ordinary as it had always been. He wondered how a flesh-and-blood creature could have no reflection and cast no shadow anyway. Perhaps it meant that they had no souls. He might still have his, for the moment, though he wasn’t even sure how he would have defined it. That which made him himself. The same sort of something Celehar was able to listen to, perhaps.

He reached for the mirror, then recoiled suddenly, as if stung. A sharp pain had shot through his hand. The doctor glanced over at him, but seeing nothing was broken, went back to his work.

“It’s the silver, Serenity,” Cala said.

Maia frowned. “Our rings do not trouble us.”

“Platinum, we would guess,” Cala said. He shrugged slightly. “Or white gold.”

Maia felt for his earrings. He wasn’t sure which ones his edocharei had adorned him with. Something lightweight, for his benefit. The last gift his mother had given him, the Winternight before her death, had been a pair of silver and jade earrings. He wouldn’t be able to wear them again. Bitter anger rose in him. He’d never wanted any of this—to live in Edonomee with Setheris, to be emperor—and now it seemed he was paying this price for accepting the crown, a gift he’d never asked for, while losing the last gift he’d been given he’d actually wanted.

He kept himself outwardly calm. They were only earrings. Without him to remember her, to love her, no one would know what they meant anyway.

Cala picked up the mirror, and held it for him. “Did you want to look, Serenity?”

“Oh…thank you,” Maia said. He peered at his reflection in the little mirror. It was a bit of a relief that his face seemed the same, with his mouth closed at least. He was a bit flushed, not that his skin showed it clearly. His eyes were unchanged, which comforted him, though he hadn’t known what else he’d been expecting. _Hast a soul still_ , he thought grimly. He let his lips part and saw the two sharp fangs where his eye teeth had been. He felt strongly that they did not belong there, and was glad his first look at them would also be his last.

While he had use of the mirror, Maia raised a hand to the bandages at his throat, thinking to peel them back just enough to see what lay underneath. His fingertips brushed the edge hesitantly—

“Serenity, it is prepared for you.”

Maia let his hand drop from his neck. Doctor Ushenar was offering him a cup of some dark liquid, which he accepted.

“Should we be bound first, or….”

“There is no hurry. It will take several minutes to take effect.”

Maia drank the bitter stuff quickly, trying to get it over with. Doctor Ushenar directed him to the padded chair, draped a heavy cloth over him to protect his clothes, and the restraints were fastened around his wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. Having his head restrained was uncomfortable, but soon a pleasant, numb fuzziness began to settle over him.

“Your Serenity will still feel pain,” Doctor Ushenar said. “You may change your mind before we are done.”

“Finish it no matter what,” Maia said firmly.

“Can’t His Serenity be given something stronger?” Cala asked. “Something to make him insensible.”

“Too dangerous at this point,” Doctor Ushenar said. “It would have been better to wait.”

Maia said nothing, holding firm in his resolve.

The doctor observed him, testing his reactions a few times. For a moment, Maia felt content despite the dread. He wished he could stay just like this a bit longer, in a place where nothing hurt.

Then he saw Doctor Ushenar holding a metal file, and unbidden, he remembered walking in the gardens of Isvaroë with his mother when he was very young, and seeing the groundskeeper with a wounded animal he’d found. The groundskeeper had to put the beast out of its pain, and Chenelo had pulled him close, one arm around him, the other covering his eyes. He wished her hand was here now, to shield him from what was to come.

He did not want to be here. He could still change his mind now—it hadn’t begun yet. He could…he could ask to be brought to the Mazan’theileian. It would delay this, and make it easier when it was time.

He couldn’t have managed to explain this to anyone, but…he felt somehow that while this would be painful, killing Dazhis in that way, draining his life force…being forced by whatever that monster’s blood was doing to him to _enjoy_ it…it wouldn’t just be Dazhis’s death. It would be his own. That was selfish of him, wasn’t it? It wasn’t really about Dazhis. That made him a bad person, didn’t it?

The doctor checked his responses again. “Another minute or two.” He adjusted the chair to bend it backwards.

Maia’s gaze drifted around the room, scanning Cala’s face, then Telimezh’s, without truly parsing either. What mad situation was this they’d gotten themselves into? Their emperor drugged and strapped to a chair in front of them, about to….

Doctor Ushevar checked him again, and took a deep breath. “It’s time, Serenity. Try to bear it.” Maia thought he sounded sorry.

Something was pushed into his mouth for him to bite on—a hard thing wrapped in leather. It held his mouth open. The doctor began to scrape at his fangs with the file. It made his head feel funny. At least it didn’t hurt. Maybe that drink was working?

The file went deeper into the tooth. Suddenly it was uncomfortable. Maia bit down on the thing in his mouth. The pain was getting worse, shooting through his skull. He could feel the tooth starting to bleed.

It was bad, but he could bear it.

The file cut into something in his tooth, and suddenly it was the worst pain he’d ever felt. He tried to scream, gagging on his own blood. His arms jerked against the restraints. He struggled, twisting, not knowing what he would do if he got free. The leather bands creaked and stretched.

“Help us hold him!” the doctor yelled.

Through the pain, Maia could see his nohecharei standing back. Neither moved.

“Hurry! Hold him down!”

Cala went to him first. He took his hand, pressing down on Maia’s shoulder with the other. Maia gripped his hand so hard he thought he might injure it. Soon Telimezh was on the other side of him, though not touching him yet.

“The faster this is done, the sooner he will be out of pain,” the doctor said. Telimezh helped hold Maia down.

Maia wasn’t sure how he got through the next few minutes. He squeezed Cala’s hand, and for the most part managed not to scream again, though he wept from it. The first tooth was finished, cleaned, and something painted on it. It still throbbed when the doctor readied to start the next one.

“Does he have to have both done at once?” Cala asked, still gripping his hand.

“He’ll have suffered for nothing if he still has that one,” the doctor said.

“Do it,” Maia croaked. He forgave the doctor for forcing him to drink the narcotic. He couldn’t have imagined making it through otherwise.

The second fang was halfway through when Maia heard voices speaking. Through his delirium, he wondered if he was hearing voices from the other side. But they didn’t say what he thought ghosts would say.

“Dach’osmin! Please wait for the doctor to discharge you!”

“If the doctor wishes to keep us here, let him take that up with us himself.”

“Nurse!” the doctor barked. “Keep her out of here!” He paused in his work, and Maia’s head went slack in the restraints.

“Excuse us! Dach’osmin! The doctor is with a patient!”

Maia felt Telimezh’s grip slack on his arm, torn between keeping the intruder out and continuing to hold him.

“We only wish to go home, if you will just—”

The doctor and Cala tried to block Maia from view with their bodies, but it was too late. For a moment, strapped to that chair, blood streaking his cheeks and dripping down his chin, one half-filed fang still in his mouth, Maia saw Dach’osmin Ceredin.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

Maia opened his eyes. He was still sore and his head throbbed, but the agony seemed to be over. He was in a bed, but not his own.

He lifted his head and brought his fingers to his teeth, touching what had been his fangs very gingerly. They were still extremely tender, but he no longer had sharp protrusions, and it felt very close to the shape of his original teeth. They’d been sealed with some kind of lacquer.

Maia let out a deep breath, sinking back into the pillow. “Good,” he said. Somewhere in the room, he heard Beshelar stir slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Though he was sure he had many important things to do, Maia allowed himself to close his eyes again. It must be the early hours of the morning, though it had taken him a few moments to realize, as he could see the room perfectly.

His mind wandered, and the memory of Dach’osmin Ceredin came sharply to the fore. That hadn’t been a dream, had it? He didn’t know how he’d wanted to inform her of his condition, exactly, but it hadn’t been like that. What had happened immediately after, when he’d become insensible from pain? She must have recognized him. How had she taken it?

Maia chewed his lip with his now-blunt teeth, then winced and let it go. It might be better to rest while he could and deal with everything at dawn. He was still so tired.

He brought his hands together under the blankets—palms and fingertips pressed together, fingers bent between them like a ribcage; the Barizheise meditation form. Darkness might provide him some cover, but he was past caring if Beshelar saw it anyway. He was worse things than superstitious by now. He tried to say the mantra in his mind: _Cstheio Caireizhasan, hear me. Cstheio Caireizhasan, see me. Cstheio Caireizhasan, know me,_ but his mind kept sliding off the words.

_Csethiro Ceredin, what did you see? Csethiro Ceredin, what do you know?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has [a fanart](http://kavos-plz.tumblr.com/post/140279653255)! Thanks so much to the very talented kavos-plz.

Maia woke again at a more appropriate hour. The doctor examined him and discharged him, which relieved Maia, not only because he felt it important to lessen the burden of the many things weighing on him that must be taken care of, but because that room had looked too large to be occupied by only a single person in a medical ward following a war. He’d wondered if any other patients had been overcrowded to make room for him—although, he granted, that might be as much for their protection as for his.

He had Beshelar and Telimezh for his nohecharei that morning, and desperately wanted to ask Telimezh what had happened with Dach’osmin Ceredin after his swoon. But Telimezh seemed almost afraid of him. Whenever Maia tried to make eye contact, he found himself meeting the haphazard white tufts at the top of Telimezh’s head, with Telimezh’s gaze somewhere on the floor. Even Beshelar seemed to notice and disapprove of it.

Maia puzzled again and again over the fragment of a memory as his edocharei bathed and dressed him. He saw Dach’osmin Ceredin’s face in profile, one sharp eye widening as she saw him there. The memory shifted—he was somewhere else, with a bag over his head. His kidnapping. He remembered Sheveän’s voice: “He will be made inappropriate for the position of emperor.”

A shiver went through him, and suddenly Maia felt cold. It was the first clear memory he’d had from the night of his assault. Yet it told him nothing he didn’t already know.

When his edocharei selected his clothing, he requested that something be chosen to reflect his mourning for Ino. He learned that while he could not wear full court mourning—it was both politically important to be seen in white, and it could too easily be misconstrued as mourning for Sheveän herself—it would be appropriate enough to wear white heavily embroidered with black thread, as well as onyx beads and jewelry, though it seemed a daunting task to find onyx that wasn’t set in silver. The final result looked like ink spilled in milk, the finely curled details of black thread winding out from his heart in grief. It was more than his father had worn for his mother.

Finally, he was led to the dining room, where a breakfast of tea and rich broth awaited him. The broth had been the doctor’s recommendation, so Maia was determined to eat as much of it as he could, though his stomach was still in knots. The doctor said it would help keep his strength up, and that was what was needed of him right now.

The dining room was empty save for his server Isheian, his nohecharei, and Csevet. Csevet gave one of his graceful, effortless bows, and rose with a warm expression, his ears relaxed rather than carried high. “Serenity,” he said, “we are pleased to see you have recovered from your ordeal.”

“Thank you,” Maia said, though he wasn’t sure ‘recovered’ was the word he would have used himself. He sat down and timidly tried a spoonful of the broth. The warm liquid hit his newly-filed fangs like twin daggers driven up into his skull, and Maia barely managed to grab a napkin to spit it into in time.

“Serenity?” Isheian asked nervously. “We apologize, if it is not to your liking, we can—” She was already trying to take the bowl away, and Maia put a hand out to stop him.

“It’s fine,” Maia protested. “It was just…hotter than we were expecting. We will allow it to cool.”

“Yes, Serenity,” Isheian said unhappily, slinking back out of Maia’s way.

Maia gave Csevet a look, wanting to ask: _does she know?_ How many people knew, exactly?

To Maia’s relief, Csevet evidently understood without him needing to use words. “Isheian has been most sympathetic to your struggles, Serenity, and we’ve made certain of her loyalties. Of course the secret could not be kept from many in the immediate household, who were most privy to your needs.”

Maia nodded. What a terrifying position for them to be put in. He didn’t suppose those who lacked in loyalty could simply be dismissed. And they couldn’t know every detail of his situation. How was Isheian to know that Maia might not demand her blood instead, if the meal was not to his liking?

He dismissed Isheian from the room, as kindly as he could, so that he and Csevet could talk politics. Maia wished, not for the first time, that he could ask Csevet to sit at his table with him. It truly seemed absurd, in light of all they’d been through in the past few days, that they could not sit comfortably together over breakfast while doing what was necessary to keep peace. But he knew it would only make Csevet uncomfortable to ask him—to say nothing of Beshelar’s inevitable sputtering. _Even now_ , Maia thought disbelievingly. He’d have liked them _all_ to sit with him. Maybe then Telimezh would look him in the eye.

“Dach’osmin Ceredin saw us,” Maia said. “When we were….”

“Yes, Serenity,” Csevet said. “We apologize for only hearing of that situation after it had passed; we did not anticipate such a complication.”

“How much of a complication is it, exactly?” Maia asked.

“ _Well_ ,” Csevet said. “When Sheveän spread information of your condition and turned many houses against you, the Ceredada abstained from open conflict, but seemed…sympathetic towards Sheveän’s side. The Marquess Ceredel seemed in favor of breaking his daughter’s engagement to you. However—” he continued, before Maia could respond to this, “Dach’osmin Ceredin was not in agreement with her father. She took up the sword and fought for you herself, against her father’s wishes.”

Maia’s eyes widened in amazement. “She fought for us herself?”

“It is a courageous gesture, but unbefitting the future wife of an emperor!” Beshelar cut in. “She’s done more to break the sanctity of your engagement than her father has.”

“Break the sanctity of our engagement?” Maia repeated in disbelief. He rather thought that if he wasn’t already obligated to marry her, he might have considered it just for this.

“In addition to swordfighting being a most unfeminine pursuit, Serenity,” Csevet said, “she took a terrible risk with herself, and has paid the price for it. She’s been disfigured in battle.”

“We saw no disfigurement,” Maia said. He called again to his mind the sight of her in the doctor’s office. If either of them had appeared _disfigured_ in that particular moment, it certainly was not her.

“It may become clearer to you when you see her under better circumstances, Serenity,” Csevet said. “What she did may not have been entirely out of romantic notions, of course. Having signed the marriage contract with you already, it would be exceedingly difficult for her to find another marriage if that was broken. Combined with her unfeminine pursuits and the financial ruin of her house her father had hoped to reverse with her marriage, dying nobly in battle may have even seemed the best option to her.”

“But she hasn’t died,” Maia said.

“No, she hasn’t,” Csevet agreed. “And now she is disfigured and has earned the great displeasure of her father. She cannot return to his house. If he disowns her, she will be worthless in marriage to you as well, if she hasn’t passed that point already.”

“When you say ‘disfigured,’“ Maia asked cautiously, “do you mean that she was also made a vampire?”

“No, Serenity,” Csevet answered, “in that regard she is as she was. Her wounds were only physical.”

“Ah,” Maia said, relieved. He would not have wished this on anyone.

Reminded of his condition, he tried the broth again. It was lukewarm now, and easier for him.

“And what does she think of our circumstances? Now that she can have no doubt of them.”

“She is asking to see you,” Csevet said.

“What do you suppose she wants?”

“Serenity…we could not know the wishes of Dach’osmin Ceredin.”

“Of course,” Maia conceded. “But if you were in her place?”

“If we were…well, the only path left open to her now is marriage. If she marries you swiftly enough, her father may be loath to disown her and sever such a valuable tie to the emperor. However, he may be disowning her even now to spite her disobedience. She has humiliated him and his house.”

“But what of our condition?”

“She is hardly in a position to object.”

“We see,” Maia said. He ate a few more spoonfuls of broth thoughtfully. For all he knew, his condition could frighten or disgust her, but her position was bad enough that her best option was marriage to a monster. All of which made her his best option for a bride.

“What of our children?” he asked. “If…if we were to marry Dach’osmin Ceredin, and have children.” Was that still possible? Surely dhampirs must come from somewhere.

“Serenity?”

“Dach’osmin Ceredin must have concerns for any children she might be made to bear. What can she expect for them?”

Csevet’s ears flicked nervously. “They would either be dhampirs or vampires. Most likely dhampirs. It is rare for a made vampire to breed true.”

“They could not be normal,” Maia said.

“No, Serenity. But their children could be.”

He thought on that. That his children would carry his goblin blood he knew, and while he suspected some at court were less than enthusiastic about this prospect, it had brought him pleasure, given his father’s treatment of his mother. Though he had heard his gray skin called ugly many a time, mostly from the mouth of Setheris, he had refused to hate it, because he could not hate any feature he shared with Chenelo. But to share this curse of bloodlust with an innocent child was completely different.

“Would they require blood?” he asked. It sickened him—a newborn child forced to crave blood.

“Not if they were dhampirs, which seems most likely,” Csevet said. “But Serenity, that is a problem for the future. There are many much more pressing matters that must be dealt with, if you hope to see your future children.”

Maia didn’t think ‘hope’ was anything like what he felt. But Csevet was right anyway, and he deserved that rebuke.

“We hope when we meet with her we will at least have the opportunity to remember the entire encounter with her,” Maia said wryly. “We seem to have developed a habit of becoming insensible in the presence of powerful women.”

“Serenity?” Csevet asked.

“Ah, we have just remembered a glimpse of Sheveän’s abduction of us,” Maia said. “We recalled it this morning.”

“Oh,” Csevet said, leaning forward. “Do you recall anyone she was with?”

Maia closed his eyes a moment, dwelling on the memory. “We had a bag over our head, so we saw nothing. There was someone else there.” He put a hand to the spot where his nose met his brow, trying to relieve some of the pain. “We don’t recall it clearly. We remember Sheveän’s sharp boot stepping on us.”

He heard Beshelar’s furious sputter. “She—she _what_ —”

“She did worse to us than that, in the end,” Maia said grimly. “And we were still more fortunate than her children.” A lump rose in his throat, and he pushed it down with more broth.

“Serenity,” Csevet asked, “don’t feel the need to push yourself too hard, but if you can remember any detail about who was with Sheveän at all…even whether it was a man or a woman?”

Maia thought on that. “A man?” he said uncertainly. “We think there was a man there.”

Csevet nodded. That probably didn’t narrow it down much. “Tell us at once if you recall anything else.”

“We will,” Maia said. He’d eaten as much of the broth as he could, about two thirds of the bowl. It was starting to get too cold, which hurt his teeth again. He put down his spoon and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Should we see Dach’osmin Ceredin first?”

“If you think it best, Serenity,” Csevet said in that way that let Maia know he did not think it best himself, but knew it wasn’t his place to give the emperor orders.

“Allow us to rephrase. In your opinion as our secretary, what matter is most pressing?”

Csevet flushed slightly. “We would attend to the matter we discussed earlier. The Adremaza is here, with an applicant nohecharis.”

“Oh,” Maia said. “They’re here now?”

“Yes, Serenity. We can have them come to the Tortoise Room when you are ready.”

Maia thought on this. “They don’t know about us, do they?”

“No, Serenity. We did not think it wise for the Adremaza to know. It would give him…too much power of blackmail over the emperor.”

“How will we keep it secret from our new nohecharis?”

“We doubt that is possible,” Csevet said. “The nohecharis must know…and the Adremaza must not. It may take some…finesse.”

“And if the nohecharis flees in horror from our service, he will of course tell the Adremaza,” Maia said. “But if we keep it from him until after he is sworn to us, he might hate us for it.”

“Serenity,” Beshelar cut in. “It is of no consequence how a nohecharis feels towards you. We are sworn upon our lives to protect you.”

“It was of consequence how Dazhis felt towards us,” Maia said, then seeing that he’d actually struck Beshelar much harder than intended, blurted out, “We are sorry, we should not—”

Of course that only made Beshelar more flustered. Maia frowned, trying to compose himself. If he could not handle his own already-loyal nohecharei with any ‘finesse,’ how would he manage with the Adremaza? “It is for our comfort as well,” Maia said finally. “We would find it exhausting to be in strife with those we work with so closely.” His gaze fell to Telimezh, who met it this time, but looked like he wanted to fall to the ground in apology—and if the ground should swallow him whole, so much the better, it seemed.

Maia puzzled over this further. He wondered why he should not just ask Telimezh directly if his condition was unacceptable to him, but suspected he would not get as direct an answer. And Telimezh was only more nervous for the presence of Beshelar. Perhaps it would be easier to ask when Telimezh was paired with a new nohecharis. At any rate, it didn’t seem like something he could do right now. He had too much else to fix.

Hadn’t he overlooked Dazhis in much the same way? He’d taken his loyalty for granted, and done nothing to earn it. Perhaps if he had been more astute, more caring, he would have noticed the signs, or even won him over, so—

Maia pushed that line of thought from his mind. It was foolhardy to believe he could force anyone’s loyalties by being somehow above betrayal. His choices weren’t the only ones that mattered. Those who served him made choices too.

He wondered, though, if Telimezh and Dazhis had become friends in their time together. Perhaps the knowledge of what the others had planned for Dazhis weighed on Telimezh almost as much as it did on him. As his nohecharis, might Telimezh even be forced to watch? Maia had to fight envisioning that, if his broth was to stay down and do him any good. _No_ , he decided firmly, _that is not how I will do things._


	7. Chapter 7

The draperies that had protected the Alcethmeret from direct sunlight before had been taken down, by necessity. An emperor who certainly was not a vampire had no need of such accommodation. Maia found himself squinting and stumbling through the brightly-lit halls, glad that no one but his nohecharei were here to see it.

When they reached a set of three shallow steps he’d forgotten to anticipate, Maia tripped and would have fallen on the hard stone, if Beshelar hadn’t caught him. He leaned a little longer than he needed to on Beshelar’s strong arm, the only solid thing in the searing, blinding brightness.

“Serenity,” Beshelar said, “we apologize. We should have found a way to warn you of it.”

He led Maia up the stairs, and Maia finally released his arm, embarrassed at how long he’d clung to it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “We just...did not see the stairs.”

“Are you completely blinded, Serenity?” Beshelar asked with concern. “Apologizes for being so forward, but as your nohecharei, we need to know how you most need protecting.” He’d used the plural, including Telimezh in that.

“Not completely, no,” Maia said. “But...it hurts.” He regretted those last words as soon as they’d left his mouth. It was the truth, but he didn’t want to seem so weak. He could already imagine the names Setheris would have called him for whining like that. And besides, what had he expected Beshelar to do about it? He could hardly fight the sun for him.

Beshelar was silent in thought for a moment. “We can do nothing for the pain, as we are a soldier, not a doctor,” he said. “However, we recall some tactical training that may be of use to you. How is your hearing, Serenity?”

“Fine,” Maia said. Now that he thought about it, it might even be a bit better than fine. It wasn’t a big enough difference to be distracting, but he thought his hearing might have gotten slightly sharper.

“Good,” Beshelar said. “And so, if we walk ahead of you, you can hear our boots clearly, can you not?” Beshelar asked, taking a few deliberately heavy steps ahead. His thick military boots made a solid sound on the marble floor.

“Yes, of course,” Maia said.

“Then that is how we can signal things to you,” Beshelar said, and began teaching Maia different rhythms he would use to signal hazards—steps, obstructions, or other dangers. The sound of his footsteps themselves would act as a beacon for him, something for Maia to follow if he got too sun-dazzled to see the path ahead.

Maia went over this a few times with him, feeling like a talentless actor doing stage rehearsals with a belabored director. But he had to admit, it was a good system. He would have to hold his own somehow in full sunlight, in front of others. No one but him would know to listen to the footfalls of his nohecharei for cues.

They took one detour on the way to the Tortoise Room. Csevet had said something about the importance of appearances, and told them he’d taken the liberty of having the imperial wigmaker design something for Telimezh. “The sight of one of His Serenity’s nohecharei shamed like that would raise too many questions,” he’d said. Maia had realized that he himself wasn’t completely sure what had happened there, but he hadn’t felt right asking Csevet about it right in front of Telimezh.

When Telimezh had been fitted with the wig, Maia was put in mind once again of an elaborate stage play—one in which they played the people they had been only a few days before. With his own filed teeth and Telimezh’s wig, they might at least look the part. He hoped they could remember their lines.

They entered the Tortoise Room, and Maia’s face was trained into a blank, neutral expression, ears carried high. The Adremaza stood silhouetted against the bright window, rays of light swimming around him. Next to him stood a short, slight man in loose-flowing robes. They both bowed. “Serenity,” said the Adremaza, “we wish to present Kiru Athmaza, whom we hope you will accept as your new nohecharis.”

Kiru bowed again, more deeply. Maia wished he could see him better. In addition to his height, he seemed to have round, smooth features. Only a boy? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“We would like to spend a few moments alone with him, to determine his suitability,” Maia said. He sensed tension, as though everyone in the room had held their breath an extra moment.

“We assure you, we have made certain of Kiru Athmaza’s loyalty ourselves,” the Adremaza said, and Maia could hear the nervousness in his voice. What exactly did he fear?

“Nonetheless, we will interview him,” Maia said firmly. “Thank you for your service in bringing this applicant to our attention. We will speak to you again when we are finished.”

The Adremaza couldn’t very well ignore such a dismissal, and allowed himself to be escorted out. The execution of that had lacked…what had Csevet called it? Finesse. Any fool might guess he was keeping secrets, and it wouldn’t take much pondering to guess what those were. But it was too late to do it over with more subtlety, even if he could think of a way.

Maia turned his attention back to Kiru. The boy said nothing, and Maia wondered if he was afraid of him. He didn’t think that boded well for his future as a nohecharis.

“Kiru Athmaza...tell us about yourself,” Maia said, as gently as he could.

“Yes, Serenity,” Kiru said. The voice had a husky quality to it, but as it went on, Maia realized it was in no way a man’s voice, or even a boy’s. “In addition to attaining the honor of joining the ranks of the dachenmazei, we have also been a cleric of Csaivo for sixteen years. We would be honored to serve as one of your nohecharei.”

Maia noticed how she had included herself in the plural, to avoid either gendering herself female or outright lying. “As our nohecharo?” he asked.

“That was our hope, yes,” Kiru said.

“That was not how the Adremaza introduced you.”

“We did not think you would be fooled. Even if the bright sunlight does rather work to our advantage.”

Maia’s blood froze, and he heard Beshelar and Telimezh take fighting stances, just in case.

“Forgive us, Serenity,” Kiru said. “We did not wish to alarm you. We have no objections to your condition, as we hope you have no objections to ours.”

Maia had to wonder if that was a threat. Would she tell his secret if he refused her?

Beshelar, it seemed, had come to much the same conclusion. “It would be treasonous to spread such false rumors!” he said.

“We have spread no rumors,” Kiru said, her tone level and reasonable, “and intended to spread none. We apologize, Serenity. Perhaps we should not have revealed our observation so bluntly. It was not proper, and we know the old emperor would never have countenanced such a thing as a nohecharo. Yet we heard of your kindness to Arbelan Drazharan and to the Archduchess Vedero, and we dared to hope we would be accepted as we are—not as a false nohecharis. We guessed then that just as we did not truly wish to keep our nature secret, but rather for it to be no obstacle, that Your Serenity might feel similarly about your own secrets.”

“But His Serenity has done no wrong,” Beshelar said, indignant. “For a woman to hold such a position—Serenity! What of your bedchamber? You cannot appear before a woman in only your nightshirt!”

Maia thought that he had appeared so before Sheveän, but having already wounded Beshelar that day with his comment about Dazhis, he held back. “She is a cleric of Csaivo,” he said. To himself, he admitted he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it either, but in addition to her vow of celibacy, he thought she must be in her late thirties. That seemed ancient to him, though he realized he had unconsciously compared the age of every woman to that of his mother—and not the age she would have been, but the age he remembered. Twenty-four forever, as if locked in amber. His own bride-to-be was nearly that old, and he would be that age himself in not too many years. What he thought of as almost grandmotherly was not that much older than Chenelo would have been, if she were here. Putting that sad thought aside, he decided that it was enough that he did not fear impropriety from her.

“We are not angry that you were able to discern our condition,” Maia said, “though perhaps, a bit alarmed it was that obvious. What gave us away?”

“Your eyes, Serenity. The pupils were unusually constricted, in response to the light in this room. We had seen that before, and we knew the rumors spoken of you, though we had not yet determined if they were true.”

“Was that all,” Maia said, his voice small. All the pain he’d gone through for his teeth, and it was still that easy to read on him. “Does the Adremaza know?”

“We doubt that very much,” Kiru said. “He does not have our experience in medicine.”

“You knew, and yet you wish to serve us,” Maia said. “Why?”

“Do you find it so incredible that we would?” She paused a moment, studying him. “We see that you do.”

“Forgive us,” Maia said, turning away. “We do not mean to doubt either your honesty or your loyalty.”

“But you did not expect either,” Kiru said softly. She seemed completely unruffled, despite having just learned that her emperor was a vampire, and having had that same emperor apologize to her as though she were above him. “Serenity...we could help you, if you would let us.”

“Help us...” Maia echoed. “How?”

“We know it was recently done. You must be suffering now. We would guess you haven’t yet tasted blood?”

Maia’s mouth was dry, his jaw slack. “How do you know this?”

“We have seen made vampires before in our work. And we...hazarded a guess. Your Serenity still has such an air of innocence about you.”

Innocence. So she could see clearly what he had not yet lost. He struggled to hold it back, but a tear fell down one cheek.

Kiru Athmaza held out her hands to him, palms up in offering. “Will you let us ease your pain, Serenity?”

Hesitantly, Maia nodded, though he wasn’t sure what exactly she intended to do. A wild thought raced through his mind that perhaps she meant putting him out of his misery for good, and while Beshelar and Telimezh were standing at the ready, it was Cala’s turn to sleep, and he did not have the protection of a maza. And if that was the case, he knew he ought to prevent it, defend himself somehow, for the good of his nohecharei as well as the people whose lives would be thrown into chaos, but he found himself letting Kiru take his hands into her own, which were soft as worn leather—and whether in sincere trust or simply surrendering to her mercy in whatever form she chose to give it, he closed his eyes.

He heard Kiru begin to hum, which as it went on began to take the form of a hymn, chanted deep in her throat. Maia felt the soreness and pain trickle out of him through their contact, replaced by a blessed absence, a sense of peace. When she had finished, there was still a residual ache in his head and the wound on his neck, but it had receded into a mere echo of its former torment. He opened his eyes in wonder.

“Kiru….”

As he looked at her, even washed out by the light, he understood. The slight narrowing of her pale green eyes, the tightness of her mouth. “You took that pain from us...to bear it yourself,” he said.

“Yes, Serenity.”

He gripped her hands tighter, as if he could pull the pain back into himself. “Put it back! I didn’t want you to suffer—” He cut himself short, realizing the slip into the informal. “We did not wish this for you. It was ours to bear.”

“This is what it means, to be a cleric of Csaivo,” Kiru said. “Among other things, this is our gift. It is our privilege and our honor, to use our strength in this way. Of all the ways to serve in this world, can you not see why one would choose this?”

Maia could. He remembered Chenelo’s pain, in the final throes of her wasting. He would have given anything to help her carry that burden to the end.

“We do understand. And we have great respect for you.”

Kiru inclined her head towards him in a slight, respectful nod. “You honor us, Serenity. Dare we ask if that means you also find us acceptable for your service?”

“Yes,” Maia said, sounding less like an emperor and more like some awestruck ragpicker’s child. “Yes, it would please us. If Telimezh has no objections,” he added quickly, remembering that Telimezh was the one who must share quarters with her.

“W-we have no objections, Serenity,” Telimezh choked out, as if startled to be asked his opinion at all.

“We promise you will not regret your decision, Serenity,” she said, giving him a smile that seemed miraculously unstrained, despite the pain he knew she must feel.

“We do not think we will,” Maia agreed. He wanted to tell her that she was under no obligation to use this gift on him any more than she felt moved to; that he did not expect it of her, and that he respected her ability and her bravery whether it immediately benefited him or not. But before he could find words to even attempt to express this in his half-tongued way, he realized that she knew it already, and to tell her that her gift to him was not a requirement would only condescend to her. This wasn’t something even an emperor could compel. She knew it was given freely. He didn’t think it _could_ be given any way but that, though he didn’t know how he came to such a conclusion, in a subject he was even more deeply ignorant on than most. All he could offer to the doubting chorus of his thoughts was that it must be his superstitious nature. It came from that same place.

Maia had the door opened for the Adremaza to be invited back in. Sehalis Adremaza strutted stiffly like a cat that had been given a bath, eyeing Maia warily.

“Serenity,” he said, offering a much more halfhearted bow than before. “We trust you find Kiru Athmaza to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” Maia said, “she will be an asset to our service.”

The Adremaza bristled at Maia’s casual use of the female pronoun. “Serenity,” he said, “we beg pardon for the impropriety, but after losing the late emperor’s nohecharei and—”

Maia cut him off. “We have accepted her into our service. There is no need to explain.”

“Very well,” the Adremaza said. Maia thanked his luck that the Adremaza had been too preoccupied with worrying what he would think of Kiru’s sex to look for the telltale signs of vampirism on his person.

“There is one other matter, Serenity,” the Adremaza said, recovering himself quickly.

“Yes?” Maia asked, already tense.

“We’ve been told that you have denied Dazhis Athmaza the rite of revethvoran.”

This was news to Maia as well, as he had not ordered it. But he could deduce why Csevet might have requested it in his name. The Adremaza would witness a revethvoran. There would be no opportunity for him to…to pervert the rite to his own needs. And he knew that a revethvoran was a way to restore honor. It could not be done without leave of the emperor.

“We have not decided yet what is to be done with him,” Maia said wearily.

“Will you try him before the Corazhas?” the Adremaza asked. He sounded absolutely scandalized.

“As we have said, we have not decided that yet,” Maia said, his tone more clipped this time.

“We of the Athmaz’are have always taken care of our own,” the Adremaza said in a warning tone. Even emperors did not have complete power over the Athmaz’are, and Maia could think of occasions where the emperor with an army at his back had failed to get his way against them.

All the more reason, Maia thought, why Dazhis was a poor choice for his needs. _At least he has wronged thee,_ he thought more bitterly—but the time to contemplate this was not now, in front of the Adremaza.

“It was us he betrayed, and we will be the one to decide his fate,” Maia said with finality. “We will inform you when we have reached our decision.”

As he watched the Adremaza go, he reflected that he could have agreed to the revethvoran, and thus prevented the very thing he had sworn to himself he would not do. But he had not yet thought of any alternative. He realized he was deeply afraid that if he allowed Dazhis true revethvoran, he would condemn himself to an even worse fate than the one he already found unacceptable. It had been his best chance to steer off that course, and he hadn’t been able to do it.


	8. Chapter 8

With the Adremaza gone, they were able to draw the curtains for Maia’s comfort. He overheard his nohecharei whispering about schedules—Cala would join Beshelar for the next shift anyway, and then after that the schedules could finally return to normal. This gave Kiru the chance to acclimate herself to the Alcethmeret and rest before coming on formal duty.

Not long after she’d left, Maia heard a creaking and some kind of mechanical straining coming down the hall. It reached the door to the Tortoise Room, and Csevet entered, having broken a sweat dragging a heavily burdened cart. Telimezh came to his aid getting it over the lush carpet to the desk.

“Csevet…what is this?” Maia asked, looking over the contents of the cart. Mostly it seemed to be papers, envelopes, and some scrolls, which were sorted or stacked into various labeled boxes.

“Your mail, Serenity.”

“You’re joking.” Maia started to laugh nervously. “That’s…that’s very good, Csevet, we needed that.”

“Would that we were,” Csevet said. Then, “It’s not as bad as it looks. We’ve been sorting them into different categories. They don’t all need responses. Some of them it might even be deleterious to dignify with a response. Many are just concerns for your welfare. We’ve taken the liberty of responding to a few of those ourselves—not impersonating you, Serenity, of course! A response from the emperor’s secretary is plenty when the emperor is known to be injured following an assassination attempt. They can’t possibly expect a personal response.” Csevet drew a letter, looked it over, and tossed it into one of the boxes.

Maia nodded. “It seems to be in capable hands, as usual.”

The tips of Csevet’s ears flushed. “You do us great flattery. It truth, it is still chaos. Government has been at a standstill for four days. Even the minor matters which can be put off may grow into bigger problems if delayed for too long. Worse still since the Lord Chancellor has gone into hiding.” Csevet drew an opened letter from one of the boxes. “He’s still requesting to plead his case before you. If you allow that, might we suggest having a small army present and taking him into custody no matter what you decide? He’s raised arms against you. That is treason, no matter how he recants it.”

“Yes…we suppose it is,” Maia said. The thought that it was Chavar that had saved Idra and Mireän from a worse fate still softened the anger at his betrayal. Yet, the penalty for treason was still death. So many people were sentenced to die for betraying him—might he eat Chavar rather than Dazhis?

 _I will go mad thinking like this_ , Maia thought.

Csevet read another letter. “Marquess Lanthevel would like you to make a public demonstration of touching silver, to ease the anxieties of the House of Blood.” His lip curled. “He has no right to demand that of the emperor, even if there were no truth to the rumors.”

“You would think the House of Blood would be more tolerant, with a name like that,” Maia said.

“The House of Pure and Noble Blood?” Csevet asked. “They consider vampirism to be an impurity, no better than peasantry.”

“But there are vampire nobles!” Maia exclaimed. “The Prince of Thu-Athamar himself is one. Marquess Lanthevel is his subject!”

“Indeed, Serenity,” Csevet agreed. “Perhaps…we did not state it well. Since Edrehazhor the Second usurped his cousin’s throne, the imperial line has accepted out-marriages—Drazhadeise women to vampire and dhampir men—but not in-marriages of vampire or dhampir women to Drazhadeise men, at least those with the possibility of inheritance. Over many generations, that has led to a deficit in power in ancestrally vampiric houses, especially as other houses avoided marriages with them in order to preserve the chance of an imperial alliance. They’ve retained power since many, such as the Tethimada, are independently wealthy, but marriages are extremely important to the formation of alliances, and a lack of that has led to a certain amount of…insular thinking.”

“Perhaps that was what our father hoped to mitigate by marrying our sister to Dach’osmer Tethimar,” Maia said. It was still an ‘out-marriage,’ but an important one.

“Perhaps,” Csevet said neutrally, picking up the next letter. He recoiled from it suddenly as if finding a coiled viper, and stared at it, ears flat and expression chillingly blank.

“Csevet?” Maia asked. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. “What is it? Will there be another war?”

Csevet looked up, startled. “Nothing like that. We beg pardon. It was just….” He stalled, unable to find the word, and Maia held his hand out.

“May we?”

Csevet turned the letter over to him reluctantly. Maia skimmed it. It was from Eshevis Tethimar, written in the same overly-florid language as his other letters, but he was able to glean information between the lines. He seemed self-congratulatory about his aid to him, even somewhat martyred about having done it despite being slighted before, but suggested, as if it were the greatest generosity, that Maia might take refuge in Dach’osmer Tethimar’s estate of Eshoravee—or fortress, as he called it—until the court was purged of his enemies, which of course Tethimar, as the emperor’s loyal subject, was quite willing to do.

Maia recalled the dhampir’s startling deep blue eyes and too-sharp smile on the occasions they’d met, and his strong dislike of him when seeing him handle his sister Paru. “What does he mean, about his help?”

Csevet had the closest to a scowl Maia had ever seen on his face. “The Tethimada were…instrumental in our winning the war. Without their assistance, it’s doubtful Sheveän would have despaired.”

Recalling what she had done in that despair, Maia felt a wave of resentment towards the Tethimada, but rationalized that they couldn’t possibly have known what she would do when cornered. They had been loyal to their emperor. “Do you think he supported us because he thought the rumors to be true?”

“That…is a complicated question,” Csevet said. “The Tethimada were, of old, a vampire house. Edrevechelar the Sixteenth showed them favor, but the first Varenechibel favored their rivals. At some point after that, they began to eschew their vampire roots, marrying elf and dhampir women whenever they could, and favoring any sons which showed less of their vampiric heritage, with end goal of becoming more acceptable to imperial favor at court. They’ve managed to do this balancing act without quite losing the favor of the old vampire houses, but not quite gaining the approval of the rest of the Court. We suspect it was a disappointment to Duke Tethimel that his son was a dhampir like himself, and not quick-blooded like his sisters. Perhaps that has contributed to Dach’osmer Tethimar’s ill temper.”

“We remember you bear a grudge against him,” Maia said.

Csevet’s ears flattened a moment, then he carefully schooled himself into a calm expression, though his ears remained low. “That is neither here nor there, Serenity. Forgive us if we have shown too much bias. We are overtired and not thinking clearly. As we meant to explain, defending you won him no support amongst the other vampire houses. If anything, he’s put himself in…rather a dangerous position, making enemies of his own when he has no allies here yet.” Csevet spoke as if the words were dragged out of him.

“The other vampires did not support us when those rumors were spread?” Maia asked with surprise.

“No, Serenity. You are only a made vampire—they are born vampires. If anything, they will hold it against you more than elves will.”

It took all Maia had to not break into a broken, mad laugh. “Do we have no friends at all….”

“You have us,” Csevet responded, so quickly the words must have come out without thinking. “We apologize. That wasn’t what you were asking, of course. You need friends of better breeding than us.”

Maia managed to smile at him. “Regardless of what friends we may need, you are the friend we would choose.”

Csevet dipped his head towards Maia in a slight bow. “You honor us, Serenity. It is true, though, that born vampires would have no love of you, even if they knew. You are still much more like us than you are like them.”

Maia wondered if this was true. He couldn’t really say anything to the discredit of vampires as a whole, not knowing much about them. Prince Orchenis had not struck him as evil in their brief meeting, and Dach’osmer Tethimar was only one person—and only a dhampir. He reminded himself, harshly, that he did not yet know how much it would change him to drink blood.

But he didn’t quite have it in him to dissuade Csevet from this belief, if this was how Csevet saw him. Csevet’s ears were still down, though he seemed to be trying to present an air of chilly indifference toward the letter and its contents. Towards Dach’osmer Tethimar.

“So he took great personal risk for us,” Maia said, “even after we denied him our sister’s hand, and refused Dach’osmin Tethimin.”

Csevet seemed tense as a string pulled to its limits, about to snap. “That’s correct, Serenity—but our counsel, for what little it is worth, would be to show caution around Dach’osmer Tethimar. We know that our opinion means little here, and of course we would trust your judgment in whatever you conclude.” He met Maia’s eyes with a sudden ferocity, but Maia understood the fear just behind it.

“Will you tell us,” Maia asked gently, “why you fear Dach’osmer Tethimar?”

“It is not a pleasant story.” He hesitated. “And we fear it might be insensitive, in light of your condition.”

Maia’s brow furrowed, wondering what that could possibly mean. Were vampire attacks somehow involved in it? Did he fear it would…stir monstrous urges in him? “We will not harm you, Csevet,” Maia said, with so much affection it took effort to not call him _thee_.

“We know that,” Csevet said, and took a deep breath. “If you wish to hear it.” It was obvious that Maia did.

Csevet began by setting the scene—the ancient vampire stronghold, alone on a high hill, beset by storms and immovable. The places where the mortar between stones was brown with old blood, blood poured into it at its making. Eshoravee—a terrible place for anyone quick-blooded.

He told of his arrival there, and how though Duke Tethimel was a dhampir, it was staffed mostly by locals, and he was given many long-toothed leers. Duke Tethimel had treated him suspiciously, as though he might be some sort of tempter with his outsider blood. It had not been a vampire stronghold for so long for things to change in a few mere generations. He thought he heard dogfighting, but when he got closer, he saw that they were wolves—for many born vampires have the gift of shapeshifting, Csevet explained, and wolves are a favored form.

Csevet went on to say how he had gotten lost and tried asking for directions with no luck. “That was when we met Dach’osmer Tethimar. We had…rather suspected someone in that place might proposition us for our blood, much as Duke Tethimel had thought. Couriers are known to be amenable to a great many things, and not all as lurid as they say. But he did not _ask_.” Csevet unbuttoned his right sleeve, fingers shaking as he did it. On the inside of his milk-white forearm, a raised, red scar went nearly from elbow to wrist. Horror at the wound, as well as thoughts of the similarity between that and the scars Setheris had given him warred in Maia with a surge of that same terrible _need_ that had risen in him before at the scent of blood. Maia also did not miss that, lighter and more discreet, Csevet’s arm was patterned with small round scars which looked to be made by fangs.

“He simply grabbed us, slashed our arm with a knife, and attempted to drink from the wound. We had no idea who he was. We were only fifteen, and he was very strong. We disengaged ourselves with more force and less tact than we would have if we had known. We still remember the murderous look in his eyes, licking our blood off his knife. We doubt we will ever be able to forget it.”

Maia’s eyes were wide, his breath shallow and fast. “We thought as a dhampir, he had no need of blood?” he asked faintly.

“He doesn’t,” Csevet agreed. “But they say that dhampirs crave it all their lives regardless. It is a thing they do…not for need, but for pleasure. And those who drink it often, as we suspect he does, can become almost like vampires.” Csevet paused, looking at Maia closely. “As we said, it is not a pleasant story. We did not wish to upset you, or to aggravate your own suffering.” He pulled his sleeve down, and redid the buttons with shaking fingers. “Your suffering was much worse than ours.”

“It hardly matters which was worse,” Maia said. “We can manage. Please, continue. We feel this is important for us to know.”

Csevet shuddered before making himself go on, and Maia almost told him to stop, for Csevet’s sake rather than his own. “He backhanded us, knocking us to the ground, and by then there was a circle of attention all around us. ‘What do you say, boys? Fox and hounds?’ cried Dach’osmer Tethimar, and several of the vampires around us who were not already wolves transformed into wolves and howled. He told us he would give us five minutes’ head start, and that’s when we knew who he was, for he dressed no differently from any of his men—and said, ‘Starting…now.’

“Serenity, we bolted. The wound he had given us was gushing, and left blood all in our path, and as the howls at our back reminded us, there would be vampires with the noses of wolves on our tail, to detect any trace of blood. We didn’t know how it was possible for us to survive the night. But Osreian or Salezheio or someone offered us a blessing that evening, for ducking into the kitchens, we met a kitchen boy who was a quick-blooded elf. He hid us in a cupboard festooned with garlic, which we suspect he did not have for its culinary uses, and scrubbed the blood we left everywhere from the floor. We spent the night cramped in that small space, pressing on the wound to keep it from bleeding. We left at mid-morning, when all was finally quiet, knowing even dhampirs often dislike sunlight, and were lucky enough that the gatekeeper did not recognize us, and did not react to the scent of fresh blood. Luckier still that no one had sent a message to the ostlers to hold us for Dach’osmer Tethimar’s pleasure.

“The wound did not heal well, and we were ill with blood poisoning from the infection,” Csevet said. “We very nearly died of it, and no one would have cared. We could not have told anyone who gave us that wound without endangering ourselves further. It is not for us to hold someone of Dach’osmer Tethimar’s station accountable.” He took a deep breath. “And that, Serenity, is why we fear Dach’osmer Tethimar.”

“Then, the other scars on your arm…were not the doing of anyone at Eshoravee?” Maia asked hesitantly.

Csevet flushed a deeper pink than Maia had ever seen him. “No, Serenity. That is a completely different matter.”

“Ah. We are…relieved. We thought perhaps they had caught you, when we saw that.”

“Serenity…if they had caught us, we would have been torn apart. They were not interested in a few drops to sustain them.”

“You have great cause to fear vampires as a whole, then,” Maia said, “not only those at Eshoravee.” He paused, uncomfortably long. “Have we frightened you at all?”

Csevet took so long thinking, Maia began to genuinely dread the answer. “Serenity…when we learned what had been done to you, we felt fear—more for you, than of you. But we did not know what it would do to you. Our heart ached for that. It was…a terrible violence that was done to you.”

“We would never hurt you,” Maia said, reassuring him for the second time. “And…yes, it was. Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, as words always did for him. He hadn’t known until just now how much he had needed someone to simply say it like that. This was not merely some latest intrigue in court plots. His throat had been cut, his body violently, painfully changed against his will, even his thoughts were sometimes turned against him, strange and bloodthirsty.

“If they had caught you, do you think they would have turned you?” Maia asked.

“We don’t think so, no, Serenity,” Csevet said. “Making is quite rare—most vampires are born so, and making is usually done with a purpose. And Dach’osmer Tethimar could not have, in any case, since dhampirs do not have that power. We think what they planned would have ended in our death.” He paused a long moment. “We meant for you to know, Serenity….”

“Yes, Csevet?”

“We understand that you cannot take our blood now. That would come at a cost we think neither of us would want to pay. But after you have had first blood…you will continue to require blood in lesser amounts. That will be difficult to procure, as we know secrecy is of the utmost importance. We had planned to offer ourselves. We did not…wish you to feel that we could not be relied on in that way, merely because of our past with Dach’osmer Tethimar. We know that this would be different.”

Maia was silent a moment, taken aback. The _need_ had surged in him again, once again useless and unwanted, and for a moment Maia wanted to reject this offer in horror. But he saw the wisdom in Csevet’s words, and that it could be done without causing Csevet any great injury. It was not only incredibly generous of Csevet, but showed a remarkable trust, given the history he had just disclosed. “We would not require it of you,” Maia said firmly, “but we are deeply touched by your offer.”

“We only wish your first blood did not have to be as it does,” Csevet said. “We have…some knowledge of such things. We could have guided you. It might, perhaps, have been easier for you. At least nothing so terrible as this must be.”

“Yes,” Maia said, “we wish that too.”

“Serenity…when it comes time for that, we hope you will remember this. It will only be that one time. The others will not be that way. It will…it will get better. You need not fear becoming like Dach’osmer Tethimar. We have no fear of that ourselves.”

Maia forced a smile. He wished he could say the same, but hearing it from Csevet was still a comfort. “We will try not to. But in the meantime, whatever are we to do with him?”

Csevet shook his head. “He still frightens us, Serenity. And he will not be fooled as easily as the Adremaza. He’s spent his entire life in the company of vampires. It would be dangerous to meet with him.”

“It would seem so,” Maia said. “And dangerous to refuse it for too long.”


End file.
